


you could watch from your window

by ferrassie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: High School, M/M, Underage Sex, Vehicular Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrassie/pseuds/ferrassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After school, c'mon. We can get it all done and then we're caught up. Teamwork, yeah?" He leans over and puts his hand on Nathan's thigh. Nathan sucks in a soft breath and Jonathan pushes the heel of his hand to the join of Nathan's hip and thigh.</p><p>"Because you obviously care so much about my grades." He makes a face. "Fine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you could watch from your window

**Author's Note:**

> nathan and jonathan are both seventeen in this story, if that's squicky for you. inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HPFsPNQ3C0) horrible/wonderful video where they talk about driving to school together and jonathan's driver's licence or lack thereof.

The first thing he ends up thinking about when they get back home, unfortunately, is homework. 

Jonathan brought their reading list and his textbooks on the road and now he's three chapters ahead in English and done his assignment for Physics. He managed to finish both with his head against Nathan's shoulder on their way to and from Cape Breton. Nathan's pretty comfortable admitting that he just slept and dicked around on his phone. Reveled in the warmth of Jonathan in his space. 

But now Jonathan's staring at him from over his centre console, History book resting on his thighs, and he wishes he had at least done something.

"After school, c'mon. We can get it all done and then we're caught up. Teamwork, yeah?" He leans over and puts his hand on Nathan's thigh. Nathan sucks in a soft breath and Jonathan pushes the heel of his hand to the join of Nathan's hip and thigh.

"Because you obviously care so much about my grades." He makes a face. "Fine."

Jonathan laughs. 

-

It's almost five. It's so easy to lose track of time when they set themselves up in the commons area, books spread out. Jonathan reads the first assigned chapter out loud. His voice curls around Louis Riel's name in a way Nathan's elementary-school French could never manage to replicate. He's supposed to be jotting down notes for their question sets and he is, but.

Jonathan smells like clean laundry, even from across the table. His hair's matted in weird places because he always showers right when they get home, just so he can sleep in the next morning. One of his shirt-cuffs is unbuttoned and hangs loose around his wrist, gives way to his forearm. Jonathan's voice gets blander, drier, the longer he reads.

Nathan's has some keywords: Louis Riel, Métis, Manitoba, Red River Rebellion, North-West Rebellion. He's got the highlights. He pinches his pen loosely between his fingers. Jonathan's bottom lip is chapped.

"What was the first resistance movement Riel led called and where did it take place?" Jonathan asks. There's a smirk pulling at the far corners of his mouth because he obviously knows Nathan stopped listening about five pages back. He waits for a handful of moments, says, "You have the answer in the notes you were taking, yes?"

Nathan blinks at him as he pulls the notebook out from underneath his spread hand. He skims it quickly. "His mouth?" His eyebrows go up a little. "What?"

"Uh," he starts. "That's the answer to the next one?"

It's not like Jonathan doesn't do it, too. He's even worse; rubs his thumb over the skin at the back of Nathan's neck when he sits behind him in Calculus. Voice quiet when he lies and says, "You had something." Presses firmly against the top knot of his spine. "I got it."

He knows what it's like to have that clean smell pressed up against him, lip dragging over his jaw. He doesn't care if that's a weakness. It's been that way since he met Jonathan, convinced him to play in Halifax, his accent more pronounced and his vocabulary much less ready. He didn't fill out his sweaters, belt notched tightly. His smile's the same, though, and he didn't notice that until Jonathan kissed him on a twin-bed in PEI, sloppy and nerve-fueled, TSN2 too loud in the background. When he pulled back, mouth still parted, Nathan was struck by the familiarity of the curve of his lips and the brightness in his eyes.

Jonathan's got that look on his face now. Two textbooks, two notebooks, and an opened binder between them. The Mooseheads' logo is roughly-sketched on the back of some write-up about negative integers. Red and black pen. Nathan ducks his head in the wake of its warmth. There are still improv kids roaming around outside the theater. He touches the pads of his fingers to Jonathan's exposed wrist.

"Wanna just finish this tomorrow morning?" Jonathan asks and it's mostly amused. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip, the chapped parts there.

Nathan's totally ready to go.

"Yeah, I mostly just wanted to copy your answers." He shrugs. "That didn't really work out." He closes his books and starts pushing them into his backpack. Jonathan's a little less rushed, but his cheeks are pink, the tips of his ears. He fumbles with the rings of his binder, the zipper of his coat.

"No, it didn't," he says, shaking his head.

He digs his car-keys out of his pocket and Jonathan falls into step beside him. His shoulder brushes Nathan's, fleeting. If he could get any closer he would. Stefan repeatedly tells them they're not subtle and it's not like Nathan doesn't understand why they need to be, but he doesn't see anything wrong with walking beside Jonathan, knuckles catching when their hands touch. The drama kids have disappeared into the theatre again, anyways.

Nathan shifts the strap of his backpack against his shoulder. Jonathan's neck is pink, now, too.

-

The parking lot's mostly empty. There are a few cars scattered, some grouped near the west entry. His own SUV is deserted, tucked far into the corner and under the overhanging trees there. They throw their bags into the back. There's two sticks and a roll of tenser tape and packs of gauze shoved into a Ziploc bag in the corner. An empty TimBits box and a milk-sticky Ice Capp cup.

He goes easily when Jonathan pulls him into the backseat, gloved hand at the neck of his coat. He fumbles for the lock, fingers slipping against the slick plastic. Jonathan pushes him up against the door once he's untwisted his arm. His knee slides between Nathan's spread legs and he tilts his head up with both of his hands. It's a little claustrophobic and this side of too-rough. The pads of his fingers press tightly into the unforgiving line of his jaw. He gets his hands up underneath Jonathan's coat and onto the hot skin of his back. Jonathan breaks the kiss to pull his zipper down and shrugs out of it. 

He looks down at Nathan, appraising. "C'mon, take it off." The neck of his button-up is pushed wide and his hair is thoroughly messy everywhere.

Nathan bites his lip and nods. It's awkward with Jonathan sitting astride in his lap and his lower-back pressed up against the car door. Jonathan throws his coat into the front seat and Nathan doesn't stop himself from reaching out and tracing his fingers over the thin red blush carving along his collarbones. Jonathan makes a noise and leans into it. He turns his face away, eyes closed, and Nathan reaches up for his neck.

Their kissing devolves from there, just the hard press of their mouths together. Nathan kind of loves it, especially because he can feel Jonathan through his jeans, hard and thrusting against his stomach. Nathan breaks the kiss to watch the stutter of Jonathan's hips, forehead pressed to his shoulder. Jonathan chokes out a laugh, but he's not as embarrassed by his responsiveness as he used to be. 

Although, Jonathan is older than him and he should probably have more control. He tells him as much.

Jonathan comes up mock-scowling, lips pursed, looking even more red and swollen than usual. "Fuck you, Nate." He reaches for Nathan's waistband and pops the button on his jeans. He whines when Jonathan drags them down, his underwear, too -- the friction on his cock is almost painful. Jonathan spits into his hand and slides the pad of his thumb across the pre-come gathered at the head. Nathan's breath catches right at the back of his throat. He thrusts up into Jonathan's grasp and gets a laugh out of Jonathan in return. "Like that?" he asks.

"Blow me," he says, but it's really hard to sound unimpressed with Jonathan's hand on his dick. 

His strokes are fast, an awkward counterpoint to the roll of his own hips, but it doesn't matter. It still feels good. More than good. Jonathan's completely concentrated on jerking him off and Nathan loves that, having that focus on him. Likes Jonathan's memorizing him. He lets out a gasp when Jonathan twists his fingers right under the head of his cock, pre-come making everything slick and dirty.

"Jo, please, I..." 

He's so close already, pleasure heavy in his arms and legs. He's been on edge since this morning. His whole body's broken into a sweat, even in the cool air of the car. "Please, more." They have absolutely no rhythm going now, but Jonathan's grip is constant and he's got his own hand shoved down the front of his jeans. He comes at that, at Jonathan's hand moving under his waistband. He tenses all over -- coming over Jonathan's fingers and his stomach and his shirt. 

He manages to swallow down a deep breath when his hips stop spasming. 

Jonathan's watching the shaky rise and fall of his stomach where his shirt's been rucked up. There's this small look of awe on his face and Nathan tips his head back against the window to avoid having to feel the weight of it. Being seventeen and in love with your best friend is still too big to think about most of the time, about what happens next. His thighs are going numb under Jonathan's weight and there's come down the line of his abs. Suitably distracting. 

He shakes his head.

He displaces Jonathan when he sits up to tuck himself back into his jeans. It makes it easy for him to push him up against the other window. The shade from the trees outside plays across his skin, shadows cast over his neck and chest. He's out-of-breath and he hasn't even come yet.

He noses at the soft denim, the fly, of Jonathan's jeans and can feel just how hard he is. He sucks in a sharp breath, stomach going concave under Nathan's hand. He's not very good at it, sucking cock, but Jonathan doesn't care -- not when he's got his mouth stretched wide around him. Too much spit gathering at the very corners of his lips, slicking across his chin. Jonathan always ends up dragging the tips of his fingers through the mess there, the saliva and come, before kissing him with the same enthusiasm.

It makes something tighten in his chest and he thinks he knows what that means, just for the moment. 

He gets Jonathan's jeans open. He's leaking pre-come through his boxers and a damp patch's visible even though they're a smooth, dark black. He mouths at it briefly. Jonathan makes a choked noise before tangling a hand in Nathan's hair. His grip is a little tight, sure to get tighter. He reaches up to pinch Jonathan's forearm and he sheepishly lets go, just a little. Nathan smiles to himself he pulls down Jonathan's boxers.

The head of his cock is already swollen, pink and wet. Nathan licks over it carefully, pressing his tongue to the slit like he knows Jonathan likes. Most of his blowjobs are a combination of him licking over and around the tip, taking only some of Jonathan into his mouth, sucking hard, and using his hand to make up the slack. This one's no exception. He traces his tongue right under the crown, thumbs over Jonathan's foreskin to do so. Knee pressed to his ribs.

"Don't tease," he says, voice lacking all authority. "Don't, Nate, c'mon." His thigh is shaking where it rests under his hand.

He pulls off, dragging his lips over the head of his cock and laughs when Jonathan tries to push his head back down. He goes with it and manages to work out some kind of rhythm. Difficult with Jonathan keening above him, the firm hold of hands, and the little tremors of his stomach. He can feel saliva coating his fingers where they're wrapped around the base of Jonathan's dick. 

Jonathan pulls his head back roughly, forcing Nathan to look up at him. "I want to..." And Nathan knows what he wants to do. Uses his other hand to trace over his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose.

"No, not in my car, fucker. I'll swallow." Jonathan pouts, eyes glassy. "No, I'm serious. It's not like you're gonna clean the seats."

He takes Jonathan back into his mouth and starts moving his hand quickly. He can taste salt-bitter pre-come, smell it. It spurs him on faster. Jonathan's letting out ragged little breath after ragged breath, hands roaming all over Nathan's back. His hips go shock-still when he comes and Nathan does his best to swallow, make good on it. He's not the best at this; he almost never has to do it because Jonathan would rather come on him, the freak. Nathan works him through it, coaxes the come out of him with his thumb to the vein on the underside of his cock. 

His breathing slowly returns to normal. 

Nathan pulls off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Sits up on his knees. Jonathan grins at him, bright and delighted. There's just the barest trace of a flush to him. Nathan leans in to kiss him, but Jonathan doesn't let him get more than a dry press of lips.

"Uh, no, thanks," he says, trying to convincingly convey grossed-out.

Nathan groans. "Oh my god, you're such a douche." He pats his thigh. "That was all you, buddy."

Jonathan shrugs. He tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his jeans. "You can drive me home now, please." His hair's messed up and it just all sort of adds to the effect. "I have a lot of homework to do."

Nathan punches him in the shoulder. "Only if you let me copy your answers tomorrow before class." Also, Nathan just blew him, so. He figures he's actually earned it now.

"Better be ready to pick me up at seven-thirty, then," he says, smirking. He reaches out for Nathan, fingers finding the curve of his kneecap. He squeezes once. Nathan's stomach flips.

-

He's there for seven-thirty, five minutes early even. It's worth it to see Jonathan in the winter-dark morning with his scarf tucked messily around his neck. He has his books tucked under his arm and he's grinning. 

He slides into the passenger seat with a lot of cold and noise. "You're here on time because you like my company this early in the morning, yes?" 

Nathan nods, probably sounds too serious when he says, "Absolutely."


End file.
